


Trust Me

by Laylah



Series: Blue-Collar AU [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, M/M, SSC, Safer Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-15
Updated: 2008-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basch gives him a crooked smile, cracking one eye open. "You want to tie me up?" he says. There's a little laughter in his voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust Me

Vossler had figured it for kind of a long shot. He didn't even ask for a while after he first got the idea, because really, wasn't it enough that Basch was queer at all? No reason to make suggestions that might complicate things. This is good. And he could wreck it if he asks for something too weird.

But the idea nags at him, won't leave him alone, heavy in his chest when he thinks about asking. He brushes it aside a few times, because he's not unhappy now and maybe he wouldn't even like it as much as he thinks he would -- but eventually he's over at Basch's apartment one night and Basch is stretched out across the bed next to him, relaxed and calm and his head tilted back so his throat's bared, and the question comes bubbling up again and this time Vossler doesn't hold it in: "You ever try any kinky stuff? Whips and chains, that kind of thing?"

Basch gives him a crooked smile, cracking one eye open. "You want to tie me up?" he says. There's a little laughter in his voice.

Vossler licks his lips. He wants to make a joke about it. Wants it to not be a big deal. The words aren't coming.

"You do, don't you?" Basch says. He rolls onto his side, props himself up on one elbow to look Vossler in the eyes. He doesn't look freaked out, at least. That's good. Even if he doesn't want to, they'll still be okay. "Vossler?"

"I --" Why should _talking_ be so difficult? But it is. "Yes."

Basch nods. "Okay."

Vossler blinks. "That easily?" he says.

"You're not going to go psycho and try to kill me, right?" Basch says.

"Of course not." The weight is lifting, and Vossler feels giddy, shaken up. He's been worrying about this for how long?

"Then I'll give it a try," Basch says. "Sometime when we're at your place." He nods toward the head of the bed, the pillows and bare wall. "You're the one with the fancy headboard."

Vossler smiles. "Fair enough," he says. It can't possibly be this easy.

Basch reaches for him. "In the meantime," he says, "I think I could go for some more tonight."

"Yeah?" Vossler lets himself be pulled down, pins Basch under his weight. "You could probably talk me into that."

Once Basch agrees to it, of course, that means Vossler's going to have to be prepared. He takes a trip over to Springfield to track down a little hole-in-the-wall shop that has discreet text-only ads in the back of the paper every once in a while. It's down a tiny side street with no sign outside apart from the address on the door, and the store itself is up a creaky set of stairs with another door, this one warning that everyone who comes inside should be prepared to show ID.

For all that, the actual contents of the store are pretty disappointing. There are a few shelves of videos, most of them featuring the same half-dozen interchangeable blonde women, and some racks of magazines in plastic wrap. There's a display of novelty lube, mostly in flavors that sound revolting. There are some improbably-sized dildos in plastic bubble packs, and some brightly-colored vibrators in boxes with cutesy names.

All the kinky stuff seems to be along one wall at the back of the store. The magazines are still in plastic wrap, but they're twice as expensive. The whips hanging on the wall look like they've been cobbled together from scrap leather, and some of them are already fraying. It doesn't take an expert to see they wouldn't hold up for long if they actually got used for anything. Likewise the fuzzy handcuffs, which not only come in colors like purple leopard print but also look like they'd only fit pretty small wrists.

Vossler leaves the store with a pair of buckling leather restraints, the one video on the rack that featured a guy in a leather harness, and a how-to book he found on the bottom shelf of a display of fiction. The book seems to suggest that he could get a lot of useful things in places like the hardware store, which he likes. At least with gear he put together himself he'd have a good idea how much stress it could stand.

By the time Basch comes over the next weekend, Vossler has read the entire book, and the interesting parts twice. He's watched most of the video. And he's collected a few more things he can use, without having to go anywhere more exotic than the grocery store. But that still leaves one important step to take care of.

"We going to do this?" Basch asks when they get into Vossler's room, as he tugs his shirt off. "You still want to tie me up?"

"Yeah," Vossler says. "But it's not just that."

Basch smiles. "Well, I figured you wanted to do more than just admire your handiwork."

"You're so fucking agreeable," Vossler complains, smiling. "I mean I want to do more than just cuff you to the bed and have sex with you. I mean, I do want that." Just saying it out loud makes him hard. "But I want other things, too, and -- it's really hard to say this so it doesn't sound like 'I want to hurt you.'"

"Well," Basch says slowly, "_do_ you want to hurt me?" It's a good thing he's so goddamn calm about this, it really is.

"Not --" Vossler stops, swallows hard, tries to put his thoughts in order. "Not badly. I -- wouldn't want to do you damage. Only, I -- when I bite, you don't mind that, do you?"

Basch reaches out to hook his fingers in Vossler's belt loops. "Not even a little. Look. Why don't you show me what you're looking for, and we'll take it as it goes. I can always ask you to stop if I don't like it, right?"

"Of course," Vossler says. He wraps his arms around Basch's waist. He can't concentrate like this. "The book even suggests using a code word for that."

"A code word, mm?" Basch grins. "Do we also get a secret tree fort?"

Vossler laughs, a little, almost relieved. "Well, the book calls it a dungeon, but yes, there is a whole chapter on building one."

Basch kisses him, wet and needy and warm, pressing close enough that Vossler can feel him getting hard. "I don't really think we need any secret code. I won't say stop unless I really mean it, how's that?"

"And you trust me to listen, even when I have you tied up and helpless?" Vossler asks.

"Shouldn't I?" Basch says, and leans in for another kiss.

Vossler kisses back for a moment, and then pulls back. "Yes," he says. He lets go of Basch and takes a step backward. "Now take off your pants and get on the bed."

Heat flares in Basch's eyes for a second at the order, and then he's doing it: kicking off his boots, unbuttoning his jeans, stripping naked and _god_, he looks good. He's hard when he gets on the bed, and that goes a long way to make Vossler feel better about asking for this.

He picks up the cuffs off the bedside table. "Let me see your hands."

Basch holds them out, palm-up, and lets Vossler buckle the cuffs around his wrists. They show off the strength of his hands so well.

"Those feel comfortable?" Vossler asks. "Not too tight?"

"Yeah, I think they're okay." Basch takes hold of one of the cuffs, twists his wrist inside it, and nods. He offers his hands. "Go on. Do your worst."

Vossler pushes Basch down onto his back, and Basch reaches up toward the headboard. He holds still for it when Vossler passes a length of rope through the rings in the cuffs, then behind the bars in the middle of the headboard. The knot's probably too easy to reach -- Basch could get to it and free himself if he tried -- but if things go well this time, Vossler figures he can always come up with something more secure before they do it again.

When he finishes with the knot and sits back, Basch pulls against the bondage slowly, testing it. The bed frame creaks, and the muscles of his chest and arms flex. "You like it?" he asks, watching Vossler's face.

"Yes," Vossler says hoarsely. He reaches down to wrap a hand around Basch's cock and stroke. "You too, it feels like."

Basch nods. "It's hot." His hips rock up, toward Vossler's hand, and he makes a low frustrated sound when Vossler lets go.

"I want to go get something in the other room," Vossler says. "I'll only be a minute. Okay?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Basch says, tugging on his cuffs. "Hurry back."

Vossler takes the stairs down to the kitchen two at a time. He can't believe Basch is being so -- it's not even just _cooperative_, it's -- that look on his face -- Vossler's hands feel unsteady as he pulls an ice tray out of the freezer and pries a few ice cubes free. Slowly. He wants to go slowly. He wants to try other things, _before_ he screws Basch senseless. He puts the ice in a mug and heads back upstairs.

And stops, in the bedroom doorway, so he can just admire the view for a second. Basch looks so goddamn good like this, stripped naked and tied to his bed, cock flushed thick and dark, legs just slightly parted. He's watching Vossler, too. "Come on," he says. "What are you waiting for?"

Vossler almost moves, but then catches himself. "Maybe I want to just look at you first," he says. "I get to call the shots like this."

For a second Basch looks frustrated -- Basch, of all people, who's more patient than anyone Vossler knows -- and then he licks his lips and says, "Can I talk you into coming over here if I ask real nicely?"

"Give it a try," Vossler says. His cock aches at the thought.

"Please," Basch says. "Please, Vossler, come over here and touch me." He pulls against the bondage, writhing, muscles flexing as he moves. "I want you."

"I like the sound of that," Vossler says. He comes over, sets the mug of ice down on the bedside table, and sits down on the edge of the bed. Basch twists, shifts toward him. "You look really fucking hot like that." He runs one hand up Basch's side, and Basch arches into his hand.

"It's weird," Basch says. "Not being able to touch you back. Not bad." He smiles. "Not bad at all. But weird."

"Probably driving you a little crazy, isn't it?" Vossler says. He brushes his fingertips over Basch's skin as lightly as he can. "You're always so touchy."

Basch nods. "Please," he says. "More."

He wants to give Basch more reasons to plead like that, Vossler thinks. He gets up on the bed, plants one knee between Basch's thighs, and lowers himself down to claim a kiss, rough and hard, fucking Basch's mouth with his tongue. Basch moans into his mouth, eyes fluttering closed, and grinds up against him hard.

Vossler pulls back. "No," he says. "Hold still."

"God," Basch says, but he stops moving. "Please."

"You can tell me to stop any time," Vossler reminds him.

Basch shakes his head. "Don't stop," he says. "It's good."

"Mm," Vossler says, and leans back down. He licks the stubble under Basch's jaw, the rapid pulse beating in his throat, the line of the tendon in his neck. Basch tilts his head back, and Vossler takes the invitation, biting down hard where Basch's neck joins his shoulder. Basch moans, and his shudder wracks his entire body.

"Yes," Vossler says. He licks at the mark he's made. "Make noise. I want to hear you." He bites again, beside the first mark, and Basch rewards him with a rich, throaty moan. Vossler sucks on the bite until Basch's self-control cracks and he rocks his hips up again in search of friction.

"Fuck," he says, when Vossler sits back. His cheeks are flushed, his expression pleading. The bite mark is already bruise-purple on his fair skin.

"So far so good, right?" Vossler says. "You trust me to take it a little further?"

"Yeah," Basch says. He smiles, giddy, inviting. "I'm in your hands."

It's almost a shame to do it when the look in Basch's eyes is so inviting, but Vossler reaches for the black bandana on the table anyway. He folds it over a few times and then smooths it across Basch's face, gently, covering his eyes. Basch lifts his head without even having to be asked, so Vossler can tie the blindfold in place. Vossler sits back on his heels, careful not to rest too much of his weight on Basch's thighs. He feels dizzy, just looking. Basch's cock is still hard, his arms bound and stretched above his head, his lips parted as he takes shallow, shaky breaths.

"Still good?" Vossler asks.

"Very," Basch says.

"Good." Vossler leans forward, stroking Basch's lower lip, then pushes two fingers into Basch's mouth up to the knuckle. Basch moans, sucking hungrily. His tongue is soft and wet against Vossler's fingertips. "God, that's hot," Vossler breathes. "I should get you to suck my cock like that sometime. Blindfolded, on your knees, your hands behind your back."

Basch moans again, his teeth scraping Vossler's knuckles. He likes the idea. They should have done this ages ago.

Vossler reaches for the ice with his free hand. It's starting to melt, slippery in his fingers, but he cups it carefully and brings one piece over to hold in reserve as he slips his fingers from Basch's mouth. Basch tries to follow him as he pulls back, straining against the cuffs, mouth open and seeking. Vossler has to swallow a moan.

He leans down to mouth at Basch's chest, to lick the hard arch of collarbone, to take a nipple between his teeth and bite, slowly. Basch shudders, pushing toward him, and Vossler reaches up to press the ice to the other side.

Basch curses breathlessly, squirming, and Vossler moves with him, holding the ice against his nipple until he stills. His breath is rapid, his chest heaving with it, when Vossler pulls back.

"You should thank me," Vossler says, "for stopping." He leans down as Basch opens his mouth, and closes his lips around chilled flesh, so that the words Basch might have said turn into a throaty, hungry sound. Vossler stays there, teasing, sucking, until he's chased all the cold from Basch's skin. "I like that sound," he says. "But I'm not sure it counts as actual thanks."

He presses the ice to Basch's nipple again. "Fuck," Basch manages then, "ah, Vossler," his arms straining against the cuffs, muscle flexing as he writhes. The bed frame creaks under them. Vossler drags the ice across Basch's chest, circling his other nipple, then changes direction and slides it down the center of his chest, over his stomach. The ice is melting, leaving a wet trail behind. If there'd been more time to plan ahead, Vossler thinks he'd want to follow this with hot wax, but he can't imagine either of them getting off on the process of removing the cooled wax from Basch's chest hair afterward. Next time. He thinks there'll be a next time. They could try it then, if he can convince Basch to shave.

When he trails the ice down past Basch's navel, Basch goes completely tense, barely breathing, holding still. He still doesn't say no -- not quite -- but his head jerks to the side, once. Vossler picks up the melting ice and drops it back in the mug.

Basch sags. "Thank you," he says, relaxing against the sheets. He's never usually this demonstrative. It looks good on him.

And he's still hard, when Vossler stretches out on top of him to claim kisses from his flushed lips. He pulls against the cuffs for that, too, not as frantically, but enough to make it clear that he wants to touch.

"So fucking hot," Vossler says, and nips at Basch's lower lip. He _can_ touch, so he does, running his hands over Basch's skin, grasping and stroking, feeling how Basch leans into everything he does. "You'd let me do just about anything I wanted right now, wouldn't you?"

"Just about," Basch says. "You going to fuck me like this?"

"Oh, god, yeah," Vossler says. He sits back. "But not quite yet."

"Bastard," Basch says, but he's smiling.

Vossler reaches for the clothespins. "Careful, or I will be."

Basch's grin doesn't waver. "You have more nasty surprises in store?"

Of all the things Vossler expected this to be, _playful_ was an option that hadn't really occurred to him. He finds he can't help smiling back. "I don't know," he says. "You tell me how nasty they are." He pinches up the flesh at the base of Basch's rib cage, and sets the first clothespin.

"_Fuck_," Basch says, squirming, as if he could get away from the pain.

"All right?" Vossler asks. He doesn't want to think too hard about the way his cock twitched, when Basch bared his teeth like that.

"Still okay," Basch says, even though his voice is hoarse. "You're going to do that again, aren't you?"

"Pick a number between six and twelve," Vossler says.

Basch licks his lips. "Ten."

"Nine more to go, then."

He sets the clothespins in even, parallel rows, and Basch shudders and curses but doesn't tell him to stop. The pressure makes Basch's skin flush pink, and he writhes when Vossler drums lightly on the ends of the clothespins.

"Two left," Vossler says, brushing his thumb over Basch's nipple. "You know where they're going, don't you?"

"Yes," Basch says. His hands are clenched into fists, his arms taut against the bondage.

"And you're not asking me to stop?" Vossler says, just to make it clear.

"No," Basch says. He relaxes deliberately. "Go on."

Vossler puts the second-to-last clothespin on Basch's nipple, and his cock aches at the little pained hiss Basch makes. "Louder," he says as he picks up the last one. "Make more noise."

Basch groans, low and raw and possibly the sexiest thing Vossler's ever heard, as the last one goes on. Vossler pulls back to admire his handiwork, to spend a minute just appreciating how fucking hot this is.

Only it looks like the pain has finally gotten to be too much for him, and Basch is starting to lose his hard-on. "Still having a good time?" Vossler asks.

"Yeah," Basch says. "I'm okay."

"I think we can do better than 'okay,'" Vossler says. "Let me know if this makes it better." He licks his lips, leans down, and takes Basch's cock in his mouth as deep as he can.

"Fuck," Basch says, "fuck, fuck," taut and trembling and -- there's a sudden, sharp tearing sound, and Basch relaxes all at once.

Vossler sits up. "You all right?"

Basch's shoulders are shaking -- with laughter, Vossler realizes, silent, giddy laughter. He holds up one hand, so Vossler can see: the stitching for the strap that held the D-ring to the cuff has ripped right out, so the ring has come free and Basch is no longer cuffed _to_ anything.

"Damn," Vossler says mildly. He'll have to track down something more heavy-duty, he thinks. "I guess that's it for tonight, then." He reaches for Basch's wrist, to unbuckle the cuffs, but Basch pulls away from the touch.

"Does it have to be?"

Vossler stops. "What?"

Basch reaches up and curls his hands around the bars of the headboard. "It's not the same, I know, but -- what if you just tell me where you want me, and I hold still?"

It's not the same at all -- but it's every bit as good. "Don't want to stop, huh?"

"Are you fucking kidding?" Basch says. "Of course I don't." He grins, and rocks his hips. "Especially not now that we've gotten to this part."

Vossler laughs. "So you can put up with me being a big pervert as long as you get your cock sucked in the end, is what you're saying."

"And don't you forget it," Basch says, smiling.

"Not likely," Vossler says, and leans back down.

Basch's cock hardens quickly in his mouth, swelling and thickening until it stretches his jaw wide. Vossler reaches up and strokes the sensitized skin beside the clothespins, and Basch shivers. Taking them off is supposed to be just as nasty as putting them on, so Vossler stays where he is, tongue teasing at the slit in Basch's cock as he pulls off the first one. Basch twitches, shivers as Vossler rubs at the spot where the clothespin came off.

"Make noise," Vossler reminds him. "You sound good."

"Yeah," Basch says hoarsely, and when Vossler pulls off the second one he moans. His thighs flex, like he wants to thrust into Vossler's mouth and is holding back.

They get the first half of the clothespins off like that, with Vossler teasing them free and Basch moaning and rocking under him. At least once Vossler can feel Basch's cock twitch when he rubs at the tender spot where one of them came off. Vossler sits up, toying with the last few clothespins, watching Basch squirm. "You want these off?" he asks.

Basch nods. "Yeah," he says. "They're getting more sore the longer they're on."

"Okay," Vossler says. "You're going to tell me when to take each one off. And I'm going to stop sucking your cock when you tell me to take off the last one."

"Son of a bitch," Basch says admiringly. "We're going to have more fun after this, right?"

"You're just going to have to trust me," Vossler says, and leans down.

He's sort of expecting Basch to ask for the first one off right away, but it doesn't happen. Even when he's toying with the pins on Basch's nipples, and Basch's breath comes hoarse and shaky, still it takes another few strokes before Basch says, "Now."

Vossler pulls the clothespin free, and Basch curses -- but he does that when he's getting a really good fuck, too, and it sounds a lot the same. And he gives it another minute before he asks for the next one, like he's waiting for the pain to fade before he asks for more. By the time the last one comes off, Vossler's jaw is getting sore, and he can taste salt against his tongue.

"God," Basch says, his hips rocking as Vossler pulls up, like he's trying to get that back, "oh god damn."

"You want something?" Vossler says. He drops one hand to squeeze his cock through his jeans.

"Yeah," Basch says. "God, yeah. I want to fuck."

The hotness is killing him. "Try again," Vossler says. He licks his lips. "Beg for it."

Basch tosses his head, writhes against the sheets. "Fuck," he says. "Please. Please, Vossler, I want you to fuck me. Want it real bad."

"Keep going," Vossler says, unbuttoning his jeans. His hands are shaking when he reaches for the condoms and lube.

"Please fuck me," Basch says. "Please, Vossler, I want your cock up my ass. Want you to give it to me deep and hard."

Vossler rolls a condom on, squeezes lube onto his fingers. "Flip over," he says. He doesn't think he's ever heard this much dirty talk out of Basch. "Going to give you what you deserve."

Basch rolls over, draws his knees up under himself, gets a new grip on the bars of the headboard. "Please," he says, and then, "god, yeah," pushing back to meet Vossler's fingers.

"Next time we do this," Vossler says, working Basch open -- and god, it's easy -- "I want to get you a spreader bar. Cuff your ankles to it so I can keep you right where I want you."

"So you can, fuck, have me any time you want me?" Basch arches his back, clutching tight around Vossler's fingers. "That sounds so damn hot."

Vossler smiles. "It's a date," he says. "You still want some cock for this greedy hole?"

"Fuck, you know I do," Basch says as Vossler pulls his fingers out. "Come on, don't hold out on me."

"Not holding out," Vossler says. He lines up, presses just enough to feel Basch's ass start to yield to him. "Want this just as bad as you do." One more breath just to prove he's in control, prove he could wait if he wanted to, and then he pushes and his cock slides into Basch's ass and it's like the first time all over again.

"Come on," Basch says hoarsely, rocking back like he's trying to fuck himself on Vossler's cock. "Harder."

"Harder?" Vossler says. He wraps his hands around Basch's hips for leverage, pulls back a little, then drives in deep. "Like that?"

Basch moans, his back arching as he pushes back. "Yes, ah, god, yes."

Vossler holds on tight and keeps thrusting, forcing more rich needy sounds from Basch's throat, answering them with his own. All the play that's come before this makes him impatient, makes his balls ache, makes him want to just pound Basch's ass until he comes in that tight heat. "So fucking good," he says.

"Yeah," Basch answers, "I -- I want to come. Want to touch my cock." His voice is ragged, the words forced out between thrusts.

"You want to be allowed to move your hands," Vossler says.

Basch nods. "Can I please touch my cock?" he asks, and then, like it's just occurred to him, "Sir?"

"_God_," Vossler breathes. "Say that again."

He thinks the little harsh noise Basch makes is laughter. "Can I please touch my cock, sir?"

"Do it," Vossler says. "Keep your other hand where it is." He might be pushing it, but this has gone so well so far. "Ask me again before you come."

"Jesus," Basch says. "Yeah. Okay." He reaches down to get hold of his cock, and moans as he starts to jerk off.

This feels way too good to last, Vossler thinks. "Louder," he says. "Let me hear how grateful you are."

Basch moans louder, letting Vossler fuck more noise out of him, his shoulder flexing in time with Vossler's thrusts. The sounds he's making are hoarse and taut, his thighs trembling with tension, his head bowed. His back is sheened with sweat, his skin slick under Vossler's hands, his ass clutching and hot. The ache at the base of Vossler's cock has built to real need, now, so immediate and so hard to deny that he has to pause, has to hold still for a minute to catch his breath and his self-control --

"Please don't stop," Basch manages, pushing, rocking back. "I'm so fucking close -- please, god, I want to come so bad --"

"God," Vossler says, "god, Basch, yeah --" and he starts to move again, can't stand to hold back, and he knows that helpless note in Basch's voice so well -- "Come," he gasps out, "come for me, Basch, come now --" and maybe it's just a matter of knowing when to give the order, but Basch does, clenching tight around Vossler's cock and moaning, harsh and low.

He tries to keep moving even after that, holding onto the headboard and rocking toward Vossler's thrusts even though he's shaking with exhaustion. "Please," he says, "please come, Vossler --" and that's already nearly enough, even before he goes on, "please -- come in my ass, I want you to --" and Vossler can't resist, doesn't want to, rocks in deep and feels it hit, feels it pulse up from the base of his cock, shuddering and brutal and hot.

It takes all the coordination he has left afterward to pull out without letting the condom slip. He strips it off and drops it in the trash, then crawls back into bed. Basch has collapsed to the mattress -- a little to the side, avoiding the wet spot -- but his hands are still stretched up above his head, and he hasn't touched the blindfold.

"You can move now, you know," Vossler says, his hand on Basch's hip.

Basch pulls his hands in toward his chest, the unbroken cuff still trailing rope. He rolls over, toward Vossler. "Yeah, I figured I probably could," he says.

"Here." Vossler reaches up to untie the blindfold, trying not to snag Basch's hair as he pulls it free. He's pretty sure he knows the answer, but he still has to ask. "You have a good time?"

There's something really cute about the way Basch blinks as his eyes adjust to the light. He leans into Vossler's touch, pressing their mouths together for a kiss and holding on. He kisses deeply, wet and sensual, and he's smiling when he pulls back. "Yeah," he says. "Hell yeah."

Vossler grins back at him. "Good," he says. There's warmth in his chest, bright and intense, tight behind his ribs. "Good, I -- I'm glad." He kisses Basch again, lingering over it, feeling the way Basch relaxes against him. "So -- does that mean we can try again sometime?"

"With a new set of these?" Basch says, holding up the wrist with the broken cuff. "Yeah. And maybe some of that other stuff you were talking about, too."

"Deal," Vossler says. He reaches for the cuffs, unbuckles them and sets them aside. Basch's hands are warm in his. "And, you know. Thanks."

Basch raises an eyebrow. "What, for having a good time with you?" He smiles. "My pleasure."


End file.
